Case 1: It was Lassie, in the Kitchen, with a Gun
by NeoTheBean
Summary: Melanie moves to Santa Barbara to get away from her controlling mother, and ends up employed by a psychic who isn't really a psychic. But, wait a second, where in the job description did it say she would be placating the cranky Head Detective? OC POV
1. Prologue

**Prologue: What's with the pineapples? Oh, and you are so not a psychic.**

"Keeping that in mind, I really think it would be better for you--"

Melanie put her cell on mute and speaker, then set it on the table. Let her mom jabber away, she wasn't interested in what _would be better for her_. Teaching hadn't been good enough for mother, and being unemployed was just an aneurism waiting to happen. She would never be happy with Melanie's career choice.

"Mellie? Mellie, are you listening to me? Come home, baby. Rodger said he'd take you back at the school any time--"

Melanie stabbed the mute button with her index finger. "Mom, I'm not coming back. I like it here in Santa Barbara," she said firmly.

"Mellie--"

"Bye, Mom." She pressed END with more force than necessary and threw the phone back in her bag.

"Parent problems?"

She looked up at the man standing across from her at her little table. He was hardly any older than she was, with brown hair and green eyes. He was wearing a goofy smile and a vividly green t-shirt.

"Mm, brilliant deduction," she answered sarcastically. Not her normal attitude, but she was feeling rather annoyed thanks to her mother.

He put two fingers to his temple and made a face like he was concentrating very hard. "Hm, let me see…your mother wanted you to get a good-paying job and marry a man with a good-paying job, but you went after your own dreams. Consequently…parent problems."

"What are you, psychic?" she muttered, annoyed but amused.

"Yes, actually." He held out his hand. "Shawn Spencer, Head Psychic for the Santa Barbara Police Department."

"Melanie Howell," she answered, taking his hand and shaking it lightly. "And you're not a psychic."

"Ah, I see we have a non-believer. That's all right, I don't expect everyone to just take my word--"

"No, I'm not a non-believer. You're just not a psychic. Sorry to break it to you, Shawn." She grinned as she stood up. "Now, if you don't mind, I have both an unemployment check to pick up and a job interview to get to. It was nice meeting the Head Non-Psychic for the SBPD."

"Funny thing," he continued, blocking her way to her VW Bug. "I, too, have an interview. Only, I'll be the interviewer rather than the interviewee."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly; this boy was the biggest ham she had ever met. No doubt his tactics worked with nearly every pretty girl he used them on, but she wasn't drawn in by his good looks. "That's lovely, Shawn, but I really need to get moving. Good luck with that interview." She stepped around him and pulled her keys out of her bag, pressing the unlock button on her clicker as she reached for the door handle.

"I'll see you around, then?" he called as she slammed the door.

"Sure, Shawn. See you around," she muttered to herself, laughing as she waved to him quickly. Slamming her foot on the gas, she sped away with a squeal of tires and a plume of smoke.

--

Psych. As in, "Psych! Gotcha!"? Melanie still couldn't believe the name of the agency, but it seemed interesting enough to serve as a temporary job. Sure, she wouldn't get to work on cases, but even just being a secretary should provide many the opportunity to listen in on an unusual case. Psychics had to get bizarre cases, right?

She slammed the door behind her as she climbed out of her Bug and adjusted her sunglasses. That was the only drawback to Santa Barbara; sunlight. It was so bright, she had hardly removed her sunglasses since she stepped off the plane. A big change from the overcast shores of Washington state.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered, smoothing out her only dress-type shirt and picking a piece of lint off her dark grey pinstriped pants. With a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped into the office, where she was greeted by the sound of two men bickering. She peered around the corner to investigate.

"I am not going with you, Shawn," the one was saying. He was Black, with a shaven head and office-type clothes. His expression told Melanie that he was being coerced into something he did not want to do.

"Aw, come on, Gus! It'll be fun! When is harassing Lassie ever _not_ fun?" the other replied. Melanie nearly choked when she saw who it was; Mr Shawn Spencer, Head Non-Psychic for the Santa Barbara Police Department.

"Ahem," she coughed lightly, drawing their attention.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the man Shawn had called Gus said, immediately falling into a gracious businessman type attitude. She had to try very hard not to roll her eyes and laugh. "You must be one of the applicants. Please, have a seat."

"Hey, Mels! I didn't know you were my interviewee!" Shawn said from where he was sitting in a padded swivel chair, his feet propped up on a desk.

"You know her?" Gus hissed at Shawn.

"Shouldn't you have known that, Mr Head Psychic? And, Mels? Really? What kind of nickname is that?" Melanie interrupted, half-laughing, before she addressed Gus. "Gus, is it? I'm Melanie Howell. Shawn and I met about an hour ago over my cheesecake and lemon tea."

"Oh, come on, Mels is a great nickname!" Shawn protested.

"I see," Gus muttered darkly. Then he cleared his throat, cast Shawn a warning look, and gestured to an empty chair. "Why don't you have a seat, Miss Howell."

"Melanie, please," she replied with a grimace.

"Right, Melanie. I'm Burton Guster, assistant psychic detective."

"Call him Gus. And his actual title is Magyk Head, psychic sidekick."

Gus threw Shawn a disgruntled glower. "Shut up, Shawn."

"Can I interrupt?" Melanie said. They both looked at her. "Could we maybe get to the interview? Not that I don't enjoy the amusing bickering, but…"

"Only one question: do you enjoy pineapple?"

She raised an eyebrow at the not-so-psychic. "Er, yes, I do."

"You're hired. Congratulations, Mels, and welcome to Psych!"

"What? Shawn! We don't even know if she has the capabilities to be our secretary!" Gus hissed at him.

"Come on, buddy! I totally sense that she's an awesome secretary," Shawn replied.

Melanie just rolled her eyes. "Sorry, I don't mean to be pushy, but am I hired or not? I can give you my resume, and I'm happy to wait until you both agree on whether or not I'm your new secretary. I've got nothing else to do tonight."

Gus glowered at Shawn, but simply muttered, "As long as we have someone to file our papers…."

"Great! Then you're hired," Shawn said happily. "See, Gus, isn't that great? First interview, and we've already got our secretary! I told you it wouldn't be a problem."

"Whatever, Shawn." He turned back to Melanie, the business-attitude turned back up to full volume. "Okay, Miss--er, Melanie, we can go ahead and get all the paperwork out of the way…."


	2. Lassie Control

Chapter One: And the mildly crazy detective seems to love me _why_?

Washington,1992

Her first day of sixth grade at the middle school, and already Melanie had managed to get herself into trouble. She sat by the door to the principal's office, swinging her feet and feeling generally guilty.

"Okay, Miss Howell. Come in here."

Melanie slipped off the seat and opened the door, hesitating. The voice didn't sound overly inviting.

"Don't be shy. Let's get to know each other, Melanie. I'm guessing we'll be seeing a lot of each other these next few years."

She slunk into the room and headed straight for the chair that was waiting for her in front of the principal's desk. Once she had sat down, she chanced a glance at the man behind the desk. He had piercing blue eyes, greying black hair, and appeared to be very tall, even sitting down. Melanie swallowed nervously, automatically checking her peripheral vision for an escape route if the tall man went suddenly crazy.

"Hello, Melanie. I'm Principal Burke." His smile had a hint of being warm, but his eyes weren't so cuddly. "Would you like to tell me why you felt it necessary to super-glue all of Miss Barrow's erasers to her chalkboard?"

Melanie did her best to look offended. "She assigned me to eraser-beating duty, Principal Burke! I hate that job! I asked her not to, and I was real nice about it…. Those erasers had it coming. Besides…I only glued them to the far sides of the board. Miss Barrow still has plenty of room to write on it."

"But no erasers to wipe the chalk away," Principal Burke added.

"She can use her hand like the boys do."

To her surprise, the tall man chuckled, and when he spoke, his voice was suddenly much warmer. "All right, you've made your case, Melanie. But you're not getting off scot-free. You'll have to scrape the glue and erasers off the board, and you'd better get Miss Barrow some new erasers. And why don't you get her some new chalk while you're at it, to pay up a little bit?"

Melanie nodded fervently. "Sounds fair, Principal Burke."

"Okay, you can go. And how about next time you visit, it's not because you're in trouble?"

"Okie-dokie, Principal Burke!" she agreed, scurrying out of the room before the strange man had a chance to change his personality on her again.

* * *

California, 2008

"Shawn? What's this charge on here for? This one for a hundred-couple dollars?"

"Oh, I sent the police department a fruit basket. Mainly pineapples. A few bananas. Y'know, to break up the citrusy-ness," the non-psychic replied nonchalantly as he tossed a bouncy ball up in the air and caught it again, over and over.

Melanie sighed as she jotted down "pointless fruit" in her notes next to the charge. She had been working at the office for almost a month now, but none of the cases had really been able to hold her interest. A missing dog, a few marital problems, some reckless teenagers and worried parents, missing money…boring stuff. Of course, nothing could compare to the tedious secretarial work….

"Hey, Shawn, you'll never believe who just pulled into our lot," Gus said suddenly, peering past the bright green letters that spelled out the name of their business.

Shawn slipped his feet off the desk and spun around in his swivel chair to look out the window. "Lassie?"

Melanie glanced up from her paperwork. Approaching the building was a tall, lanky man, apparently in his mid to late thirties, wearing a black suit and looking to be in a very foul mood. "Lassie?" she questioned without thinking, but she was ignored by the two men.

The door was suddenly shoved open more forcefully than necessary, and "Lassie" entered the office, scowling. Melanie barely had time to take in his angry features before he started barking at her bosses.

"Spencer, Guster, before anything is said, I want it to be very clear that _no one _will know I'm asking for your help!"

"Lassie! So glad you could stop in! Pineapple?" Shawn said, ignoring the man's previous comment and lifting a Tupperware container of diced pineapple toward him. "Freshly sliced."

"I should've known it was you that sent O'Hara that ridiculous fruit basket. She's been passing those stupid things out like mints."

Melanie snorted as she added "for a girl" to her previous notation. She should've known….

"What is it that you need, Detective Lassiter?" Gus asked, his tone business-like in an attempt to cover his chuckles.

The man pursed his lips before responding. "I was framed for a murder."

Melanie watched in surprise as the goofy smile slipped off Shawn's face for the first time since she had met him. It was several very long seconds before his slack jaw snapped shut again and he was able to speak.

"What happened?" he choked.

"Some punk stole my gun and used it to shoot some other punk." The lanky man sank into a chair and glared at the opposite wall during the pause that followed his brief and mostly unhelpful explanation.

Melanie couldn't help but feel pity for the detective, even though what she had seen of him so far indicated that his personality wasn't exactly pleasant. "Er, Detective…Lassiter, was it? Could I get you something to drink?" Well, he seemed to be a decent enough person, despite his crankiness.

All three men looked at her as if they had forgotten she was there; or, in the detective's case, never noticed her at all.

"Who's this?" Detective Lassiter snapped at Shawn and Gus.

"She's our secretary," Gus answered. "Melanie, Detective Lassiter. Detective Lassiter, Melanie."

"_Head _Detective," Lassiter growled.

"Sorry," Gus muttered.

"Oh, it's nice to meet you, uh…Head Detective Lassiter," Melanie said awkwardly. "How about that drink?"

When she addressed him by "Head Detective," he focused on her, inspecting her face. After a long minute, he muttered, "Whatever you've got." As an after-thought, he added, "As long as it doesn't involve pineapple. Or fruit of any kind, really."

She nodded. "Sure thing, Head Detective." Addressing him by his full title seemed to make the pulsing vein in his forehead relax a little, so she figured it would be a good idea to continue the practice, especially with Shawn around. She guessed Shawn wasn't good for anyone with a vein like that.

As she rooted in the fridge for something that wasn't fruit-related, she listened intently to the men's conversation. It seemed as if Psych finally had an interesting case….

"Details, Lassie. I need details," Shawn was saying.

"Details? I thought you were supposed to be a psychic, Spencer." Detective Lassiter's tone indicated that he didn't really buy into Shawn's antics; it made Melanie grin.

"Yes, well, it's hard to see things when I've got such negative energy blocking me," Shawn retorted. Melanie had to give him credit--that excuse would be fairly believable for a real psychic.

"Fine," Detective Lassiter said, sounding slightly smug. "Two nights ago this punk broke into my house in the middle of the night. I was asleep, but a gunshot woke me up. When I reached for my gun on my bedside table, it wasn't there, so I grabbed a golf club--"

"You golf?" Shawn interrupted.

"No, I don't golf, Spencer. Victoria thought it would be a good hobby for me. I'd rather go down to the shooting range."

"So why do you still have them?"

Detective Lassiter ignored Gus's question and continued with his story. "Anyway, I grabbed a golf club and headed down the stairs. When I went into the kitchen, there was a dead punk on the floor and my police gun beside him. I grabbed the gun, checked to see he was dead, and then cleared the rest of the house. When I didn't find anyone else, I called the chief. Ballistics matched my gun to the two bullets in the dead guy, and there were no prints on the gun but mine."

Melanie grabbed a Coke from the fridge and stepped back into the main room of the office. "But, it's self-defence, right? I mean, he broke into your house…" she said, unable to stop herself.

The detective shook his head as he accepted the soda with a muttered "Thanks." "There was no sign of forced entry and nothing had been messed with."

"Who was the guy?" Shawn questioned.

"This punk I picked up for drug possession a few years ago. He just got out of rehab apparently and decided to pay me a visit."

As Shawn fell into what appeared to be deep thought over the new information, Detective Lassiter noticed Melanie again. He was staring hard at her, as if trying to figure out something.

"What was your name again?" he asked.

"Melanie," she answered slowly, holding out a tentative hand that he shook almost pensively.

He continued to stare at her, looking perplexed, until Shawn interrupted.

"I'm going to need to see crime scene photos," he said as he stood and began pacing in front of his desk. "Oh, and I'm going to need to see your house."

"What? You are _not_ coming near my house, Spencer!" Detective Lassiter snapped at him.

"But, Lassie, I have to connect with the spirit of the victim! The best place to do that is to be at the spot he died," Shawn argued, back to his typical childish self. "Trust me, Lassie, the last place I want to be is your house. It's probably just crammed full of dark, doubting, negative energy." He made an odd hand-motion, like he was squeezing Play-doh in his hands.

Detective Lassiter glared at Shawn for several long moments before he muttered reluctantly, "Fine. But she's coming with you."

Melanie was startled when he pointed at her. "Me? But, I'm just the secretary--"

"Okay, deal," Shawn said enthusiastically.

"Why me?" Melanie repeated, still bemused by the detective's insistence.

"You look trustworthy," Detective Lassiter replied. "I want you to help me keep an eye on these two, especially Spencer." He cast her one last sidelong glance before glowering at Shawn. "I'm warning you now, Spencer. If you touch anything in my house without permission, I will finally rid the world of your nuisance." With that, he turned and marched from the building, leaving Melanie in a haze of bewilderment that at least Gus seemed to share.

"Sure thing, Lassie!" Shawn called after the detective, grinning. Then he turned to Melanie and gave her a hearty thump on the shoulder. "Well, Mels, looks like you're part of the Psych investigative team now. Congratulations!"

Gus snorted. "I don't know, Melanie. I've never seen Lassiter like anyone he's just met before. Well, aside from Chief Vick's sister, but that was just creepy."

"Should I be scared?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Possibly," Shawn answered. "I'll let you know when you really need to worry. Until then, I think we've discovered a valuable asset in you, Mels."

"How's that?" she inquired sceptically.

"I think you've just become Lassie Control," Gus responded, grinning.

She didn't like the way that sounded.


End file.
